


Two-Step

by Agent_24



Category: RWBY
Genre: Anal Sex, Flirting, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:00:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22296694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agent_24/pseuds/Agent_24
Summary: The day after the Atlas Ball: Clover returns from a day long mission, and Qrow asks for him a second time.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Comments: 26
Kudos: 469





	Two-Step

**Author's Note:**

> Surprise! The sequel I said I wasn't gonna write. [Read part 1 here!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22201762)

It’s past 9:00PM before Clover finally gets back to his dorm, and ten before he reluctantly peels himself away from a hot shower. The mission had been long and slow, not offering much in the way of action ‘til near the end of it. He’d returned sweaty and tired and mildly dissatisfied after the night before; he thinks about Qrow in that fine suit and the way he’d invited Clover into his room, the breathy little sigh he’d breathed out when Clover kissed him, and wishes more than anything that he hadn’t needed to be up early. 

He’s still a little sore from a battle with Grimm, a faint ache in his shoulder from slinging Kingfisher’s hook a little too hard to stop a Manticore from ramming into a truck full of dust. The hot water of his shower helped, but now he feels drowsy and exhausted even as leftover adrenaline thrums through his body. 

And he hadn’t been able to have breakfast with Qrow either, to add to his sour mood.

Clover rakes his fingers through his hair and tosses his wet towel into the dirty laundry, pulling on sweatpants and picking his scroll up to submit and read through reports and alerts before he heads to bed. He’s in the middle of a recap of today's mission when a knock interrupts his train of thought. He sighs, takes his scroll to keep reading while he sidesteps his little coffee table with a little flare of good fortune.

He wonders, with no small amount of delight, if his Semblance is getting a little stronger without his notice, because the guest waiting at his door is Qrow, looking sweetly nervous.

“Hey,” Qrow says, and his eyes skate down Clover’s bare chest before abruptly flicking back to meet his gaze.

Clover’s grin just about splits his face. “Hey, yourself,” he greets, letting his scroll hang at his side while he leans against the doorframe. “Saw you got assigned patrol this morning. How’d it go?” 

“Uh —” Qrow says, like he briefly lost his train of thought. “Fine. There were Grimm sightings, but far off.”

Clover nods, waiting with thinly veiled amusement. Qrow’s in his usual clothes today, but Clover’s still very interested in the slit collar of his shirt, teasing a flash of pale skin. Qrow clears his throat, and Clover knows that means he’s been caught staring, but he still waits a second or two before meeting Qrow’s eyes again. 

“How was your mission?” Qrow asks, and it sounds suspiciously like a squawk.

“Little rough at the end,” Clover says, stepping away from the doorframe. “Nothing we couldn’t handle.” A pause. “Well?” 

Qrow blinks. “...Well?”

“Are you coming in?” Clover prompts.

Qrow flushes that pretty scarlet again. Clover bites the inside of his lip to try to rein in his expression. He’s very certain it doesn’t work.

Still, Qrow steps in without further comment, tucking his hands in his pockets and glancing around Clover’s quarters. There’s a faint line of tension to his shoulders that comes with being in someone’s personal space for the first time. Clover lets his breath out slow as he shuts the door behind them, savoring the sight of it.

“Nice digs,” Qrow says casually.

“Mmm,” Clover replies, waving his hand and dropping his scroll on the coffee table. General Ironwood can wait for a bit this time. “Perks of being a senior officer, I guess. Make yourself comfortable.” 

He means that, but Qrow hesitates a moment, rubbing at the back of his neck with a thoughtful look on his face. After a moment, he says, “I don’t wanna impose.”

“You’re not,” Clover promises. 

“I just thought...uh —”

“Hm?” Clover says. Qrow’d cut himself off when Clover sat on the bed. His earlier blush returns full force. Clover feels a bubbling spark of delight at this; Qrow seems so cool and aloof at work, cocky and confident when he gets a chance to show off his skills. The fact that his nerves seem to be getting the better of him now implies that this means something to him. Clover thinks about the way Qrow had brightened in his arms at the Atlas ball, his quiet smile when Clover had offered his hand, and it runs a little thrill down his spine.

“Are you tired?” Qrow blurts. “From the mission.” 

Is he _tired._ Clover tilts his head, a glint in his eye. “I was.” 

Qrow draws in a sharp little breath. “Not now?”

“I’m feeling pretty awake right now, yeah.”

It’s a loaded statement on purpose, and Qrow knows it, if the amusement he hides by glancing off and swiping his thumb over his lower lip is any indication. “I was thinking,” he says after a moment, “if you weren’t tired...maybe we could pick up where we left off.”

Clover hums. “I did tell you to ask me later,” he muses, then pats the bed at his side. 

Qrow watches him for a second, then toes off his shoes and takes a seat. 

He is damn gorgeous. Clover reaches out and brushes his thumb along Qrow’s jaw, smiles fondly when Qrow leans into the touch. “Anything I should know?” he asks softly.

“Mm,” Qrow thinks about it. “I’m ticklish.”

Clover blinks, then snorts. “You trust me with that kind of information?”

“I find it’s better to come out with it rather than get surprised.”

Clover laughs. “Alright, fair.”

“How about you?” Qrow says. 

Clover pauses. His voice has changed, just a little. Just slightly. Lower in his throat, raspier, hungry. A little flutter rushes to Clover’s belly, and it must show on his face, because Qrow’s grin turns crooked, a little mean. Bastard knows what he’s doing.

“Nothing, really,” Clover answers. He drops his hand from Qrow’s face, lets it fall to the silver buttons of his vest. He plucks at one, curious. “How do you wanna do this?”

Qrow glances up, apparently distracted by his bare chest again. It does wonders for Clover’s pride. There’s a short stillness, and then Qrow puts both hands on him and pushes him down to the mattress. Clover goes down easy out of surprise; he blinks, and suddenly Qrow’s straddling his hips.

“This alright?” Qrow asks, watching Clover’s expression. He must like it. Clover feels like he’s burning. 

“That’s fine,” he answers, a beat late. 

Qrow winks at him, one hand braced on Clover’s belly while the other reaches up to pull his cloak from where it’s pinned to his shoulders. Tattered scarlet slides to the floor, near salacious. 

Clover hopes the wink he’d given Qrow in the mines had given him the same sort of reaction. Otherwise, this seems monstrously unfair.

“You mind if I…?” Clover asks, prying his hands from the covers to smooth over Qrow’s vest buttons again. Qrow nods, and Clover deftly plucks each one open as fast as he can without looking like he’s scrambling. Qrow shrugs the vest off his shoulders, leaving Clover to huff and start all over again on the buttons of his overshirt. 

It’s absence gives him a nice, sweeping view of Qrow’s throat and collarbones. Qrow pulls his white shirt over his head and Clover feels a low, simmering heat settle in his stomach.

He smooths his hands over Qrow’s side. Qrow shivers and shoots him a look. Clover grins, sheepish, though the grin falters when he spots the long, thin scar cresting Qrow’s lower ribs. 

“What’s this?” he murmurs.

“My invitation to a rematch,” Qrow says, swatting his hand away lightly. “I’ll tell you later.”

Clover frowns, then nods and makes a mental note to lay a kiss there later. For now, he smooths one hand over Qrow’s chest, the other over one of his thighs. Qrow arches into it a little, lifts his chin enough to bare his throat, and — 

Clover mutters a low swear and pushes himself up, arm going around Qrow’s back so he doesn’t topple. 

“What’s wrong?” Qrow asks, and hisses out his breath immediately after as Clover starts kissing along his jaw. Clover likes the texture of his stubble and rubs his cheek against it a moment before — finally, _finally_ — he presses his mouth to Qrow’s throat. He feels Qrow’s breath stutter, feels Qrow’s nails scrape across his back, and licks a long swathe up to his pulse.

Qrow groans. Clover feels like he could sing.

Clover scrapes his teeth along Qrow’s earlobe, delights in the way he jumps before he starts making his way back down, pressing suckling kisses over Qrow’s skin ‘til he reaches the junction of his neck and shoulder. He pauses, hesitating. “Qrow?” he murmurs there, asking permission.

Qrow’s fingers drag through the short hair at the back of Clover’s neck. His breath ghosts over Clover’s ear, nose against his temple.

Clover bites down, and a heavy shudder runs through Qrow’s whole body.

There’s a pretty, reddening mark where then he withdraws, running his tongue over it once in a half-apology for the sting. If he’s lucky, it’ll bruise. Shame, he thinks, that Qrow’s clothes will cover it. He takes a moment to admire it; he’s been craving this since he first laid eyes on Qrow in the evening streets of Mantle, since those brilliant red eyes glared up at him in defiance.

Qrow is just as pretty as he’d imagined, and he’s not even out of his pants yet.

“Hey,” Qrow says softly, then lowers his head to kiss Clover’s shoulder. Clover thinks Qrow may as well have punched him. Qrow presses his fingers into Clover’s shoulder blades like he can feel the leftover tension from the mission and returns all of Clover’s affections, kissing along his throat and jaw, though underneath Clover’s ear, he only leaves a press of tongue. Clover shivers, tightens his arms around Qrow’s waist. 

“Yeah?” he answers finally.

A pause, then Qrow slides his hand down Clover’s back, fingers dipping just beneath the brim of his pants. A request.

A low laugh rumbles in Clover’s chest, along with some heady warmth that feels a little too serious for the short length of time he’s known Qrow. Damned if he could explain it away. Qrow draws back, brows knit like he expects to be made fun of, a question on his lips. Clover takes the opportunity to catch Qrow’s chin in his fingers, holding him still.

“In a minute,” Clover promises, then draws him in for a kiss. 

It starts off as a chaste little thing that Qrow sighs into and escalates with a slow steadiness. Qrow licks against Clover’s bottom lip and Clover opens up for him, lets Qrow nudge his tongue into his mouth and press into him with a little arch of his back. Qrow’s arms circle his neck and Clover thumbs down the bumps of his spine, enamored with the way their bodies fit together. 

Qrow kisses him a little harder, a little more frantic, a little more hungry. Clover only pulls one hand from him to ease them back down to the bed, where Qrow’s arms circle his head and his fingers thread into his bangs. Clover can’t help cupping his face in both hands, brushing along Qrow’s cheekbones and into his dark hair.

“Clover,” Qrow breathes, half-crushed against his mouth. “Please.”

And _oh,_ that’s not fair at all. 

With practiced speed, Clover hooks a leg over Qrow’s hip and flips them over. Qrow makes a startled noise as his back hits the bed, and Clover almost laughs at how similar it sounds to his namesake. “Since you asked so nicely,” he teases, pulling Qrow’s belt loose. He gets off Qrow’s lap just to pull the man’s pants off, dragging the underwear with them out of sudden impatience. 

He takes a moment to look Qrow over, admiring. Qrow is slender and beautiful and strong all at once, lean muscle coiled under smooth skin sparingly criss-crossed with scars from years of fieldwork. Clover is charmed by his fine black hair and the tanlines his rolled sleeves have left, by the faint red flush over his body, by his — 

Well. 

Clover’s eyes finally drift back up to Qrow’s face, and he finds the man blushing and looking away, mouth hidden behind his hand. Clover laughs openly now, leaning over him once more and tugging Qrow’s hand away by the wrist. “Are you getting shy?” he asks playfully. 

“Shut up and take of your damned pants,” Qrow says, snappish. 

Clover bites back a smile for the sake of Qrow’s pride. Qrow’s already reaching for him with his free hand in impatience, grabbing at Clover’s sweatpants and yanking them halfway off his hips before he pauses, eyes cast at Clover’s crotch before he glances up with a raised brow.

“I _was_ going to bed,” Clover explains.

Qrow huffs, cheeks going a little darker (and maybe his eyes too, with some heavy look of desire settled there in his blown-wide pupils). “Yeah, well, less work for me,” he says, tugging a little harder and nudging Clover’s side to get him off his knees.

Clover drops back to the mattress and kicks his pants the rest of the way off. He likes the way Qrow looks at him, the way he licks his lips absently as his eyes flit over Clover’s body. He likes the way Qrow’s hands hover, halfway to initiating but perhaps a little shyer than he’d let on.

Clover snags Qrow’s wrist and brings the man’s fingertips up to his mouth to kiss. He likes the flush that elicits. Qrow traces the shape of his mouth, and he likes that too.

“Alright,” Clover says, sitting up just to push Qrow back down, eager now that they’re both naked, “alright, let me have you.”

“Don’t say it like that,” Qrow complains, though the flattered grin playing at the edge of his mouth says he doesn’t exactly mind it.

“What other way is there?” Clover asks, pushing Qrow’s knees apart and settling between them. “I want you,” he adds, leaves _have for a while now_ unsaid, and dips down for a kiss while his hand fumbles at the nightstand drawer for lube. 

Qrow makes a sweet little noise against his mouth.

They’re a flurry of hands after this; Clover starts to open the bottle and Qrow grasps his arm to still him, so insistent on going first that Clover can’t spare the peace of mind to deny him. He comes apart under Qrow’s skilled hands too easy, all his wanting just made worse as Qrow works him over and bites little marks into his belly, as Qrow takes him down his throat in smooth strokes that leaves his lips shining and wet while Clover strains and whines as he tries not to buck into his mouth too hard. Qrow swallows around him and Clover feels all of his skin burning, feels it twice over when Qrow looks up at him, smug.

Clover takes his expression as a challenge. He drizzles lube onto his fingers, rubs them together so it won’t be so cold. Qrow watches him, anticipation lining his shoulders ‘til Clover kisses the tension away. He presses between Qrow’s legs, slow and careful, drinking in the image of Qrow arching underneath his hands, the low, breathy sounds of pleasure he makes. He waits ‘til Qrow is used to it before adding a second, stretching him out and crooking his fingers till Qrow whimpers for him. 

And what a sound it is.

Clover withdraws and slicks himself up while Qrow catches his breath. This time, when he lays between Qrow’s legs, he eases into him with a low groan. 

“Fuck,” Qrow swears quietly. 

Clover stills, his arms shaking as he braces himself up. “Does it hurt?” he rasps. 

Qrow shakes his head, already digging his nails into Clover’s shoulders, hooking a leg around Clover’s waist and pulling him down flush, breath hot against Clover’s neck.

A shudder runs all the way down Clover’s spine, and he rolls his hips into a rhythm when Qrow digs his heels in. And just like that, it seems that they can’t help themselves; Clover rocks into him faster and harder and Qrow arches up for it, mouth latching onto Clover’s neck. Clover wraps his arm around Qrow’s slender waist and holds him there to keep the angle, presses kisses underneath Qrow’s jaw when he cries out.

He loves the sound of Qrow’s voice. He loves the warmth of him, the sweat slicked skin, the way they fit together, he loves — 

“Qrow,” he breathes, helpless, shivering into him when he can’t help it anymore. He lowers Qrow back to the bed, meets hazy, half-lidded eyes as he reaches between them to bring Qrow to climax, spreading precum over the head with his thumb and pressing down into the slit when Qrow writhes.

It leaves them both sticky. His limbs feel like lead, but Clover still manages to snag tissues from the nightstand and wipe them both a little cleaner before he collapses at Qrow’s side, boneless and sated.

“That was good,” Qrow murmurs, sounding dazed and sex rough.

Clover hums his agreement, smoothing his hand over Qrow’s belly. Both of them are still flushed and sweaty but rapidly cooling in the bedroom’s crisp air. Clover shuts his eyes again, about to reach for the covers blindly until he feels Qrow start to sit up. 

“Qrow?” he asks, opening his eyes once more and blinking in surprise when Qrow nudges a kiss against his temple.

“You should get some sleep,” Qrow says, appreciative. 

Now Clover sits up a little, too. “You’re going?”

Qrow opens his mouth, cheeks tinging a little darker. “Well, I...I mean —” 

“You don’t have to,” Clover blurts. It seems a tragedy to just leave things like this, for as wonderful as it’d been. He wants to see Qrow wake up bleary-eyed but glowing, wants to see him fresh out of the shower, wants to see him before he has a chance to comb his hair. 

Qrow goes quiet. Clover wonders if he’s asked too much. Then: “You want me to stay?” 

“Yeah,” Clover admits. “Yeah, I do.”

Another pause and Qrow gets redder all the while, avoiding Clover’s gaze out of embarrassment while he slides back down to bed and settles with his back against Clover’s chest. Clover beams, drawing the covers up to their chests and throwing an arm around Qrow’s waist. He wonders if Qrow can feel his heart thudding against him.

He presses a kiss to Qrow’s shoulder, and squeezes when Qrow laces their fingers together.


End file.
